


To The One Who Knocks

by WitchRavenFox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mystery, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchRavenFox/pseuds/WitchRavenFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title:		To The One Who Knocks<br/>Fandom:	Sherlock BBC<br/>Words Count:	1203 Words<br/>Characters:	Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson<br/>Rating:		NC-17 for notions of sexual nature<br/>Summary:	Mycroft arrives at 221B to persuade the boys to take a case, but seems to stumble across something else entirely within the confines of the kitchen. Established relationship! Drabble attempt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The One Who Knocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junejuly15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junejuly15/gifts).



> This was intended as a drabble, but as I don't know how long that is supposed to be, I did this.

As the sleek black Jaguar pulled up to the curb outside 221b Baker Street, Mycroft sighed to himself knowing that he was about to go into another mental and verbal battle with his younger brother, and if John Watson was not there, it would all go terribly wrong.

 

John, the Captain and doctor who had such a calming influence on Sherlock’s nervous energy and it was amazing to watch the smaller man in action at handling his brother. No one else had ever managed to do it, expect for maybe Mummy, but she didn’t count. If anyone could convince Sherlock to take this case of the missing agent, it would be John.

 

Leaving the car with his umbrella in hand was second nature to Mycroft after all of these years, British weather being as unpredictable as it was, and a simple glance at the clouds on this late spring afternoon was no different. Even now in June, the clouds darkened threatening Mycrofts’ special suits.

 

Opening the main door Mycroft noticed that the house was silent. No noise from Mrs Hudson’s flat, and no apparent noise from the boys flat upstairs, but his intelligence had confirmed for him that they were both here up until two minutes before he stepped out of thh car. If they were going anywhere, he would have bumped into them by now, that was for sure.

 

Ascending the stairs slowly and pausing on occasion out of habit, Mycroft listened out for hints as to where the boys could be. The element of surprise was in being able to anticipate reactions and locations, and while he didn’t have to run those down himself normally - that was what a secret service was for after all... Or Sherlock - getting in the odd snatch of practice was never a bad thing.

 

With both feet on the landing he surveyed the two closed doors, one leading to the kicthen and one leading to the living room, and listened for any noise from eiather, and to his left - the kicthen door - he heard something no brother should ever have to hear.

 

“No, not like that Sherlock... Move to the left. No more to the left, love. No... You can do it firmer than that... Not that firm.” John sighed audibly as he instructed Sherlock on how to - what exactly?

 

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, realising that he had perhaps arrived at completely the wrong time to discuss anything. Because it was obvious, was it not, what was going on here.

 

Sherlock and John had been in a comitted relationship with eachother for well over a year now, their voracious appetites had earned them something of a reputation in some of their various circles. Some of those at the Met had reported on seeing them leave cleaning cupboards and the like quite dishevelled, completely unbecoming of a Holmes but Mycroft knew that he could not begrudge his younger brother a happiness that had eluded him for so many years. Possibly his life.

 

“Dammit John, I told you this was a bad idea,” Sherlock fumed on the otherside of the door, “It shouldn’t be this difficult... It wont... Oh god... Why wont it just - stop. Really just... Stop.”

 

Mycroft’s mind ran through possiblities of what was going on through that one door, because maybe, just maybe it wasn’t what he thought, because what he thought was that John and Sherlock were playing some kind of power game with each other, a possibilty that he wouldn’t rule out being that both men were such string characters in their own right, and in this instance it sounded as though it was teh first time, because John was having to instruct Sherlock on what to do.

 

“Really Sherlock, you’re doing fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” John said softly, was there a catch in his voice?

 

Not being able to see was hampering Mycroft’s thought process. So much depended on being able to see. You cannot observe fully if your sight is taken from you and you have relied on it for everything you have done in the past. In situations like this, being able to see was paramount in deduction, and now it had led him around the garden path and then some.

 

Mycroft thought about leaving then, maybe calling round in a few hours, surely they’d be finished whatever they were doing by that point and then they could discuss business. He had even turned on a heel to ensure he didn’t make a noise on the floorboards, when he heard a shuffling of feet and some rather creative quiet swearing from John.

 

With is curiosity piqued, Mycroft pushed the kicthen door open firmly.

 

Sherlock had a hold of the infant girl (well she was dressed all in pink) at arms length from his own body like she was some kind of time bomb waiting to happen. He eyed her warily along with the nappy that seemed quite loose, he had obviously been putting it on her.

 

“What are you doing here? Don’t you ever knock?”

 

John plucked the girl from Sherlock’s frozen arms and hushed the babe in arms as she choked back a scream and sniffled instead, she seemed as interested in what was about to happen next as all the adults in the room.

 

“Good afternoon to you too, dear brother. John. Are we adopting strays now?” Mycroft noted with a satifaction that a faint blush mottled Sherlock’s cheeks and his back snapped straight. John simply raised an eyebrow and murmured something to the girl while boucing her gently.

 

“I have an agent missing, Jenna Godge. I was hoping that would be able to do some leg work for me. I can see that you’re busy though, so I’ll see myself out.” Mycroft noted there was a tension in the room that he couldn’t detect from the stairs and through a door.

 

“I can do it.” Sherlock all but ran forward, darting a quick look back at John.

 

“No, you can’t. For the record, Mycroft, this is my neice, Alannah. We have her until tomorrow, when **we** will be able to look into this. You promised Sherlock.”

 

Mycroft backed towards the door slightly from the glint in John’s eyes, glad that he wasn’t on the other end of that on a regular basis, no wonder Sherlock behaved himself. She had obviously triggered a conversation that needed to be had with no one else to hear it, and retreating was the safest option to avoid being drawn in.

 

“She’s your niece! You can do it.”

 

“Yes, and you agreed that you would be her uncle as well. Which means helping your boyfriend. Mycroft, I’ll be in touch.”

 

Mycroft nodded slowly and flicked his eyes between his brother and John. Yes, he was able to handle Sherlock like no other. 

 

“Yes, well. Good day.” Mycroft said awkwardly, unsure of himself for the first time in a long time. He abrubtly left and closed the kitchen door behind him and took the stairs down quite quickly as he heard a raised voice, not John’s.

 

Maybe next time he should really knock before making assumptions. Nodding to himself he closed the main front door and slipped into his car.

  



End file.
